The KlatchianMorporkian Relations Committee
by LadyJafaria
Summary: The almost-war is over, but things are still not going well for the Klatchians in Ankh-Morpork, and Vimes enlists a young Assassin to help sort things out. Mainly original characters, set just after Jingo.
1. Chapter 1

"Oi! You there! Stop in the name of the law!" yelled the Watchman. Waleed Sahaffy was most annoyed. Did this watchman not know who he was? Or rather, _what_ he was, for at the moment, what he had chosen for a career and was in the process of performing was more important than his identity as Waleed Sahaffy. Or, for that matter, any of the supporting data thereof, such as the fact that he was half-Klatchian, that he was just over five feet tall, or that he had green eyes. The Sammy not knowing any of that was excusable, and probably advantageous. But his not knowing what Waleed was _doing_ was not excusable in the least.

Regardless, he stopped. It did not do to run from the Watch. If you were innocent, you became guilty of running from the Watch. If you were guilty of something else and then ran, gods help you.

"See here, I saw you fire that crossbow at that merchant."

"Do you know what a man who's dressed all in black prowling the streets at night with a crossbow _is_?" asked Waleed, hoping he sounded arch.

"Yes, a man who's dressed all in black prowling the streets at night with a crossbow is going to spend a night in jail if he doesn't produce the right paperwork."

"See here. This is clearly a violation of my rights as a Klatchian, and if you were not so eager to run in one of those towelheads you would not have assumed I would not make the rank amateur mistake of attempting to conduct an inhumation without identification. Here is my Assassins' Guild membership card."

"Got a big mouth on you, kid. But this is only a membership card. Where's the contract for that merchant you shot at?"

"I'm positive I have it." But a thorough examination of his pockets, his satchel and even under his hat led only to discoveries of greasy wrappers from the falafel stand, an old copy of the _Times_ which covered the Guild graduation, a medal for Best Language Student—it was claimed that the last person to win the medal with such high scores was _Vetinari_—and various other odds and ends which were, mainly, odds.

"None of this is an assassination contract. You seem like you just graduated."

"Oh, yes, sir. Only a recent graduate would make such a mistake. A seasoned assassin would have a perfect routine, and a current student wouldn't because the masters would have _him_ killed for the mistake. And because we weren't allowed to practice outside the school before finals, sir."

"Since you missed anyway, I'm just going to let you off with a talking-to from Vimes."

Waleed let the guard lead him to the Watch House, where an older, scruffier guard was sitting behind a desk, one hand pawing through paperwork and another hand poking at a curry that Waleed would possibly, charitably, if he had been a very charitable person to begin with, called a bit inauthentic.

"Caught this towelhead trying to assassinate a merchant, commander," said the guard who had brought Waleed in.

"Why's he here then, if he failed? Assassination paperwork not in order, or you just forgot we're not at war with Klatch anymore?"

"I apologize, Sir Vimes, but it is the former," said Waleed. "I am Waleed Sahaffy, very recently of the Assassins' Guild school."

"And you hardly took offense at being called a towelhead. Interesting."

"Oh, I took very much offense, sir, but unless you paid me to, I couldn't hurt him. Nil Mortifi Sine Lucre, sir."

"Look, I know my guard ran you in for a talking-to, but the city, by which I mean me, is in need of someone who understands more of Klatchian than 'vindaloo'. There's Carrot, but he's so trustworthy that most of your people don't trust him."

"Trying to prevent another debacle like the almost-war, sir? Admirable. But I fail to see how I can help you. An assassin cannot join the Watch."

"We've got Nobby in the watch, and he steals."

"Ah, but he is not a member of the _Thieves' Guild_, is he?"

"No, and mainly he steals from the petty cash and the mess hall."

"There you have it. I cannot be in the same category as Nobby, because I am not a person who steals yet is not a Thief. I am both a person who kills _and_ an Assassin."

"Well, I wasn't asking you to join the Watch. I was asking you to become an independent consultant. We've put adverts in the _Times_ about the position, but nobody seems to want to do it. The Morporkians won't do it because what they know about you people could fill a thimble, but the Klatchians seem scared to do it too. All you'd have to do is explain problems involving Klatchians to the Watch, or the other big institutions of the city, and explain Ankh-Morpork law and practice to Klatchians."

"I suppose that can't be considered 'joining the Watch,'" said Waleed, but he was still apprehensive. He would, if hired, be the first Assassin to work this closely with the Watch.

Well, perhaps not _the_ first Assassin. But the first Assassin whose "close work with the Watch" wasn't "telling them all what to do because you run the damn city." That was different. This was a much less important job, yet neither Assassins nor Watchmen would be very happy with Waleed's taking it.

"You won't be joining the Watch. You think I'd let an Assassin in the ranks? And you won't be alone. We're getting a Professor Nizam from Unseen University to serve as a consultant as well, but he's more of a learned expert type. You're our man on the Klatchian street, as it were."

"If Klatchians have to live on a certain street of Ankh-Morpork I have more work than I thought!" said Waleed. It was a joke. Vimes did not think so, partly because it was the kind of joke that isn't very funny.

"Now, now, don't play the 'I Am But A Klatchian And Do Not Understand You' game with me. I've beaten 71-Hour Ahmed at it."

"71-Hour Ahmed is my father's third cousin!" Waleed exclaimed.

"Will wonders never cease," muttered Vimes. "Anyway, _he_ was educated at the Assassins' Guild school, and he became a policeman in Al-Khali."

"They do things differently in Al-Khali, as anyone in Ankh-Morpork takes such delight in pointing out. The Assassins would not let me be an Ankh-Morpork Assassin _and_ an Ankh-Morpork Watchman, regardless of what they let my cousin do. He is out of sight and out of mind."

"Well, you've got the second part right. Are you taking the position or not?"

"Taking it. Oh and one more thing. Is there any truth to the rumors that His Lordship speaks Klatchian?"

"Colon and Nobby will swear on their mums' Shepherd's Pie that he does. For that reason, I am equally sure—though I am past the point of swearing on dinner, unless Sybil burns it—that he does _not_."

"But he supports this measure?"

"Yes. He's met with Professor Nizam already. But Nizam's Morporkian is better than mine, so Lord Vetinari would not have had to speak Klatchian even if he did, in fact, know how to do so."

Waleed put his hat back on—he was very annoyed that people kept calling him a "towelhead" even though he was clearly not wearing a turban, but rather a hat in the style that was known in Ankh-Morpork as an Ephebian Fisherman's Cap—and left the Watch House. He was certain of three things. First, that he would rather usher in a new era in Klatchian-Morporkian relations than just be another Asssassin. Second, that he would make sure the merchant he still had a contract for died quietly, so that nobody would suspect Waleed Sahaffy the archer, seeing as one of the many things archery was _not_ was quiet. And third, Vimes had been lying through his teeth. Waleed had in fact sat in classes with the man who had taught Vetinari to speak Klatchian.

Well, _slept_ in classes. The man required assistance from the Department of Post-Mortem Communications to come in these days, had never been an engaging communicator even while pre-mortem, and at any rate taught Klatchian. Waleed, who had grown up speaking both Klatchian and Morporkian, felt that someone trying to teach _him_ Klatchian was rather like telling an artist how to paint a self-portrait.

About the only thing Waleed had learned in that professor's classes _was_ that he had taught Vetinari. He was immensely fond of saying "Bad crop of students this year. Of course, none of you will ever measure up to Vetinari" or "Here's a handy bit of Klatchian Vetinari's sure to remember if you ever go up before him" or even, once, memorably, "Sahaffy! Your own father was Klatchian, and you just made a mistake I got Vetinari to stop making on his first day!"

Waleed had had to point out that in the Hersheban dialect (which was his own), what he had said was not a mistake.

And was told "Good, good, you passed the test! Vetinari pointed that out as well!"

Waleed looked up to Vetinari.

He did _not_ however look up to an Old Master—or rather, a Dead Master—who thought the epitome of learning Klatchian had been achieved by a white boy thirty years ago just because that white boy had coincidentally found himself ruler of the city. Was it some bizarre way of currying favor with Vetinari? Waleed giggled a bit. Currying. With Klatchian. It was a Pun, or Play On Words. Albeit not a very good one.

He put a quickly-written dispatch in the _Times'_ inbox and sent some messenger pigeons to friends and acquaintances of his before he went home, as well as one to Unseen University asking for Professor Nizam, who fit into the category of friend on a special case; Waleed had never met Nizam, but he was Klatchian, and believed fully in the adage about the enemy of your enemy being your friend. If the enemy was bad treatment of Klatchians in Ankh-Morpork, and Nizam was also fighting it, then he was Waleed's friend.

Messages to friends sent, he hurried home. The Sahaffy family had done fairly well for themselves, and were widely considered people who had achieved The Ankh-Morpork Dream. Waleed's father was a Klatchian imports merchant, selling rugs and other decorations made in Al-Khali and the other great cities of Klatch to the well-to-do of Ankh-Morpork, who while they fancied themselves Cosmopolitan and would spend very much money on any of Mr. Sahaffy's luxury goods, always seemed to want to get rid of Mr. Sahaffy himself very quickly. But in the scheme of things, you made no less money on rugs because you had to send your green-eyed, harmless-looking son to deliver them, and the Sahaffys had brought themselves to the ranks of the rich. They had two houses now. The smaller one, only recently acquired, belonged to Waleed, and while not quite as nice as the first one, was sturdy, and clean, and a nice place to go home to after a night of assassinating. Or even of being asked to explain things to the Watch because you _failed_ at assassinating. The next morning would be…_interesting_. Waleed remembered an Agatean phrase about interesting times, and wished he hadn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

The next morning, three things happened. The _Times_—this time saying "The Thruth Shall Make Ye Free" and putting Waleed in mind of a lisping bird—arrived on his doorstep bearing the headline "Klatchian Affairs Consultancy Founded," over an article that was _not_ the one written by Waleed. He was disappointed. He'd written his on good clean notebook paper, just like you were supposed to, and in addition he'd not used _nearly_ so many howevers. His skill at languages included Morporkian, and he thought he'd written a beautiful article. But it got passed up for another clunky, weasel-word-filled de Worde special.

_Then_ the assassination contractor turned up on Waleed's doorstep demanding to know why the assassin he had hired was telling the Watch about The Klatchian Street while an inhumation client was still very much alive and walking the Morporkian ones.

After he left, but before Waleed had even finished his cup of Klatchian coffee, the door was knocked upon again, and this time when Waleed opened it he found a very tall, very thin Klatchian man. He had an elegantly trimmed goatee, and wore a black turban with three falcon feathers stuck in. However, he was also wearing a very Morporkian suit, and while his tie _did_ have a palm tree embroidered on it, it was the perfect length and width to be the latest Morporkian style. His whole look said "I'm proud of where I came from, but I can fit in here, too." Unfortunately, from the neck _up_, his look said something different to Waleed.

It said Grand Vizier.

Which, really, _meant_ a multiplicity of things, but foremost among them in Waleed's mind was "traditionally rather opposed to Assassins being around." Someone who does not need Assassins himself (the enemies of a Grand Vizier often disappeared without any Assassins being contracted; they often _were_ Assassins) but often has them set against him tends to have that opposition. Waleed had met a Grand Vizier…or someone that Lord Downey had been utterly convinced was one…once before, but he'd gone back where he came from without incident, or at least without incident that involved Waleed. Much.

"Good morning," said the man, and then proceeded in an oily tone that, if the beard and turban had not already fed Waleed's paranoia, would have sufficed to give it at least an appetizer and possibly an entrée as well, "I am Professor Nizam, recently made professor on Klatchian Culture and Wizardry at Unseen University."

Waleed managed an uncommitted "So is that, like, Klatchian culture and _Klatchian_ wizardry, or Klatchian culture and how it relates to wizardry in _general_?"

"The former. Klatchian wizardry is a fascinating subject, Mr. Sahaffy."

Turned into a snake lately, Professor Nizam, was what Waleed wanted to say, but he knew that even if he had _had_ a good reason to say it, it wouldn't have come _out_ any good.

The coffee kicked in.

_Wait, I'm prejudging a Klatchian. I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to get people to stop_, he thought.

_Well, it's not like I prejudged him for _being_ Klatchian._

_No, you just prejudged him for being a Klatchian of a certain age, height and weight_, a nastier part of his brain—one that never managed to be nasty to anyone _else_—told him. _Not much better_.

"I'm sure Klatchian wizardry is fascinating and you know lots about it. But you and I both know you're not here for that. You're here to size up the new recruit. Do come in, I have some coffee left." He led Professor Nizam to the sitting room and poured him a cup of coffee.

"I have to say that I myself would have picked someone who was _not_ an assassin." Nizam looked disdainfully at Waleed's diploma. Waleed knew it was a bit unusual for someone who had come from money to actually take the Black Syllabus, but he also knew he didn't come from so _much_ money that being able to have a job to fall back on was unnecessary. Besides, knowing how to hide and how to fight helped immensely when you were a short, skinny Klatchian boy. And besides _that_, insulting the guild of Assassins was insulting some of the finest people Klatch had ever seen, like Pteppic of Djelibeybi and the famous 71-Hour Ahmed.

"Well, why is that? It's a perfectly legitimate guild, and the other day I was told by my fiancee's father that he was _proud_ his daughter was marrying an Assassin."

"Well, yes, in many contexts it's perfectly legitimate, and I won't say that your future father in law—Mr. Wazir, who owns the bookshop, isn't it?—is wrong. But think of it this way. If you wanted to represent Morporkians to a culture that was already distrustful of them, you wouldn't send Corporal Nobbs and C.M.O.T. Dibbler, would you?"

"Well, of course not."

"Neither do I want to be representing Klatchians with an Assassin. Especially seeing as you'll be working with me, and I don't think you need to be told twice what _I_ put people in mind of, seeing as you were in mind of it yourself."

"Well, I don't actually have to _do_ any assassinating. Say, is this job dangerous? I became an Assassin because I wanted exciting prospects."

"Yesterday morning I had a half-brick heaved through my window with a note on it reading 'You'll Get Yours, Raghead.' I wouldn't call that danger, because it was the window in the kitchen and I haven't used the kitchen since my sister died. "

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was she such a good cook that you can't defile her memory?" said Waleed, but also thought _Must remember to ask him why he does not live in the University. All the other wizards do._

"No, Mr. Sahaffy. She was such a bad _alchemist _that I still can't use my _kitchen_."

"Well, that wouldn't have been Guild work. There's no style in throwing a half-brick through a window. Anyway, I'm making baklava for the inaugural meeting of the Klatchian-Morporkian Relations Committee. I'm expecting some of my guildmates, and Mr. Wazir, and his daughter, and Mr. Goriff. Representing the Watch will be Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson on account of his speaking our language. I sent many messenger pigeons last night."

"You have been busy. Perhaps I should go and get someone other than myself to represent wizardry. I shall be back with Ponder Stibbons."

"Who's Ponder Stibbons?"

"The weedy one with glasses. High Energy Magic Department."

"Oh, _that's_ Ponder Stibbons. I've seen him out and about a few times. At least you're not bringing Ridcully; nothing against Ridcully, but I'd have to make so much more food! Incidentally, how long have _you_ been at the University? You don't exactly have the physique."

"I grew up in a poor Klatchian town where a fresh fish and a piece of bread was a feast fit for a sultan. And while you'd think that would only make me _more_ likely to overindulge on University food, it only made me unable to stomach as much of it as the rest of the wizards eat. But I am as they say a true Ankh-Morpork success story. From rags to an Unseen University professorship!"

"I grew up here. I was born in Klatch, but my mum is Morporkian, so she wanted to move back here. There are things I don't know. I don't know nearly as much about Klatch as people think I do. Vimes said I had quote-unquote an Ankhian accent so thick you could float rocks."

"Mr. Sahaffy, you could float _trolls_. But I am not going to call you any less Klatchian for that. You stepped up, even though you weren't going to be punished by the Watch anyway, and your willingness to work for the cause is more important than your accent or your green eyes or where your mother was from. I will be back this afternoon. If I had disliked you, I would instead be going to Vimes to pick someone else."

Professor Nizam left, and Waleed sorted out the rest of the messages he had gotten from friends and family. Rather embarrassingly, he had not known his mother and father were on vacation in Quirm until he saw a note from the shoppe's assistant manager in the pile. It read simply "Sahaffys in Quirm. Check inbox." Because all of the responses to his invitations had come by messenger pigeon or the clacks, Waleed had not yet attacked the veritable mountain of paper in his inbox, which was a large wooden box that could be slid in and out of Waleed's front room, something like a dresser drawer with a lid. He was proud of it. Even though the Post Office was unreliable, letters still traveled in Ankh-Morpork; delivering them was a good way for boys to earn pocket money, and some people even delivered letters to their friends themselves, although that was best done when the friend could be expected to be not at home, because you'd feel bloody silly if you went to tell your friend something in a letter and he turned out to be in. Anyway, the inbox was full, but rather near the top of it was a letter from Mr. and Mrs. Sahaffy about their upcoming vacation in Quirm. Waleed resolved to check it more frequently, and quite possibly to get a Dis-organizer as well. Apart from his parents, everyone else he had invited was able to come to the meeting.

He poured himself another cup of coffee and waited for them to show up. He knew they would be late. Klatchians were _never_ on time. Waleed pictured a Klatchian Dis-organizer. "3 p.m. Or possibly 3.15 p.m. Or 3.30 p.m. Sometime this afternoon. When you feel like stopping by." It was no wonder 71-Hour Ahmed had become famous; he was the first Klatchian in history to be _early_. But Waleed didn't mind that everyone would be late. It gave him more time to make baklava and plan the agenda. Which needed quite a bit of planning.

_Author's Note: Klatch has to be, to be canon-compliant, more stereotypically Arab than I would write real-world Arabs. I would never say "Arabs were never on time," even though I had an Arabic professor who was late to his own classes. It's still something of an unfair generalization on Roundworld. But this takes place on Discworld, and on Discworld the clichés are bigger just so that you get a cooler noise when they deflate. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

That afternoon, Waleed's home became the headquarters of the inaugural Klatchian-Morporkian Relations Committee. Professor Nizam arrived early with Ponder Stibbons and an apologetic look that suggested arriving early had been Ponder's idea. Everyone else was late, which, in the scheme of things, meant they were not late at all, because nothing started until everyone had arrived.

By the time Waleed's fiancée Zayida Wazir and her father straggled in, Professor Nizam, Ponder Stibbons, and Captain Carrot had eaten nearly all the baklava.

"I have an excuse!" said Zayida, in an Ankh-Morpork accent that could at least have floated pebbles. "Mrs. Whitlow kept me later! Said I'm in charge of the whole laundry staff starting tomorrow, and if I play my cards right I might be in charge of the entire Unseen University housekeeping staff one day."

"Why aren't you working in your father's bookshop, Zayida?" asked Carrot.

"I have a brother, and there wasn't room for all of us to work in there. So I had to find other employment, and I have to say it's working out quite well. I've even gotten the confidence to stand up to a wizard and tell him that it doesn't _matter_ if things from the Dungeon Dimensions invaded and his clothes are covered in green ichor, he'll have to wait until the next day to have them washed because all the _other_ wizards whose clothes were covered in green ichor got their laundry into the queue before him."

"So Carrot, do we have any cases today?" said Waleed, though his eyes were still on his fiancée. She was beautiful, she was An Ankh-Morpork Success Story in the making (the Unseen University staff was so large and prestigious that leading it was rather like commanding an army, and, as such, it was something to be proud of), and she had a bookshop in the family. She was perfect. _And_ she could stand up to wizards, which was very important, because Waleed had never gotten the knack of it and there were now two wizards in the room. Wizards were kindest to cooks, but they always made sure to avoid offending the ladies who got green ichor out of their robes as well. Otherwise, they would have to do it themselves.

"We do in fact have a case today. Minor dust-up in Dolly Sisters. Seems a man who lost a brother around the same time as the nearly-war blamed his neighbor, one Mr. Sharif. But we arrested him."

"And is that the end of it?"

"Well, yes. You see, Sergeant Angua informed the man that his brother had not, in fact, met his demise at the hands of Mr. Sharif, or even at Klatchian hands at all. He had fallen off a ship and drowned, and the ship wasn't even going to fight in the nearly-war. The Klatchians need not fear him any longer."

"I want to be at the trial," said Professor Nizam. "I want to make sure Mr. Sharif gets lesser punishment if all he did was defend himself."

"He didn't even do that. He cursed quite a bit, but he didn't throw a punch or a kick. He was trying to avoid a fight."

"He knows how it'd look if he did fight," said Waleed. "You know those violent Klatchians, always willing to cause an affray." Causing An Affray was perhaps Waleed's favorite phrase in the entirety of the Ankh-Morpork law book. He wouldn't want to be charged with it, of course, but it looked good on paper. You didn't have Affrays in Al-Khali. You had Mr. Kassim from Djelibeybi punching out Mr. Xerxes from Istanzia and then 71-Hour Ahmed not liking either of them because of course _he_ is a D'Reg, and throwing both of them in jail and leaving the Grand Vizier—a Hersheban—to sort it all out, which he usually did, with a mind as sharp as a scimitar and, usually, with an actual scimitar as well. You could _call_ it all an Affray, if you were willing to stretch the term to cover the playing-out of a thousand-year history of tribal warfare, and Waleed was not.

"You're an _Assassin_," Mr. Wazir pointed out. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Ah, yes, but there is a difference between someone who kills and an Assassin. And an Assassin does not _fight_." This was not entirely true. Assassins fought a great deal, at school. Waleed had not gone a week without fighting, but usually the other fellow came off worse. It was true, however, that Assassins rarely fought on the streets of Ankh-Morpork. If someone was able to fight you, you hadn't done your job.

"Good point," said Zayida. "What's the next thing on the agenda?"

"Unseen University. Have any Klatchian students complained of mistreatment, Mr. Stibbons? Professor Nizam?" Ponder Stibbons was not, in point of fact, a Professor; he was merely a very busy research fellow, occasional finance officer, and all-round errand boy for the higher levels of wizardry. A professorship would only have given him more work to do, not because the other wizards would have forced him to do professor work, but because he'd have forced himself. Ponder Stibbons was that kind of person.

"Well, we sort of follow a program of benign neglect with regard to our students," said Ponder Stibbons. "Nizam is unusual in that he actually gives lectures and enjoys it. However, there have been some complaints about bledlows or fellow students. Ridcully's only prejudice is favoring wizards over non-wizards, so he won't be having with something as banal as racism in his university. And Professor Nizam of course is an invaluable resource. He counsels all our Klatchian students perfectly."

"A Klatchian Students' Association was recently formed. Perhaps I should invite them to get involved with the committee."

"An excellent idea, Professor Nizam. One final thing on the agenda. The guilds. Klatchians are well-represented in the Thieves' and Assassins' Guilds, sad to say, but many of the more…shall we say, above-board groups have neglected to invite people like Mr. Wazir despite their being successful merchants. The Merchants' Guild _still_ rejects my father's applications, and he could buy some of the other members' shops! And don't even get me _started_ on the press."

"Why not, Mr. Sahaffy?" asked Nizam, who, being a wizard, could rarely stop himself from asking questions.

"I wrote a perfectly serviceable article about the committee and submitted it before the deadline, and instead someone who wasn't even there writes the article based on an interview with _Vimes_! They are not interested in the Klatchian perspective! And their most recent article on Dejelibeybi left Pteppic in a rage! He told the entire Assassins' Guild about it in a newsletter! Good old Pteppic, never forgets the school even though he's ruling a city. A small city, but still a city. We're proud of him. And I graduated with a young lady who is now Chief Secretary to the Grand Vizier in Hersheba."

"You know, Nizam should know something about that," said Ponder.

"I do keep an eye on current events abroad, yes."

"Well, I meant like from your contacts. Isn't there a Viziers' Guild?"

"First of all, Mr. Stibbons, you cannot _have_ a Viziers' Guild. They would squabble worse than wizards. Who were married to witches. Second, if there were such an organization, I would not be entitled to join it. Do I look at all fat men with beards and glasses and assume they're wizards?"

"Well no sir, but wizards have pointy hats. I'm surprised they haven't given you one."

"I have ceremonial reasons for wearing this turban."

"I'm surprised they didn't try to stick the pointy hat on top of it anyway."

"Giving me a turban with a point in the middle? I think not. And Rincewind was vocally against it as well. Seemed convinced it would 'eat away my Moral Wossname.' I attempted to point out that his cause and effect were out of order. Perhaps, I told him, it is not that being a Grand Vizier _makes_ one evil, but rather there is something in the profession that attracts people who are _already_ evil. And regardless, it is not, in fact, the hat that makes a Grand Vizier. People who are not wizards would do well to avoid wearing pointy hats, but in Klatch nothing ill will befall you for wearing a 'turban with a point in the middle.' What makes a Grand Vizier is his signet ring."

"You certainly know a lot about it for someone who claims no connection."

"In Klatch, you made it a point to understand Grand Viziers. Do you not in Ankh-Morpork try to understand your Patrician?"

"Oh yeah, we try. We try our arses off. Most of us don't succeed. Why would he just have Vimes hire the first poor Klatchian bugger what got caught? Why not someone with more experience?"

"I have met with Lord Vetinari. He did not mention anything about my partner in the venture becoming, as you say, the first poor Klatchian bugger what got caught. Besides, you're the first Klatchian bugger what _accepted_ the job. Don't blame Vetinari, and don't come to undue conclusions. Imagine, Mr. Stibbons thinking _I_ am a Vizier! If I were, why would I be lounging around Unseen University!"

"So…getting me was _Vimes_' idea?"

"Why do you act as if it is so impossible for Sir Vimes to have ideas, Mr. Sahaffy?" asked Nizam.

"No, it's not impossible for him to have ideas. It's impossible for him to have bloody stupid ideas like this! What are we even doing here! An Assassin and a man what looks like he should be steepling his fingers and cackling madly? It's like a joke! Assign _these_ two and expect people to actually treat Klatchians better. If I didn't know better I'd think Vimes planned it so it'd go wrong, but Vimes hates everyone so much that he doesn't hate Klatchians _specially_."

"I don't think Vimes _hates_ everybody," said Carrot, who wouldn't think that a man wearing an "I Hate Everybody" button hated everybody. "I think he just _suspects_ everybody. There's a difference."

"Thank you for that insight, Captain Carrot. I've always told my fellow wizards you're one of the best men on the Watch," said Nizam.

"I know you can't tell by looking at me, but I am a dwarf," said Carrot.

"One of the best _members_ of the Watch. I regret my former comment entirely, as it left out Sergeant Angua as well as the Watch's non-humans. Incidentally, I rather like Dwarfish. Taught myself a bit of it, even."

"Really, sir? I find that most Morporkians have difficulty with Dwarfish."

"Most Morporkians did not grow up speaking Klatchian," said Professor Nizam. "Once you can already make all manner of bizarre sounds, learning Dwarfish is simply a matter of putting them in new places."

"I think you've gotten a little off-topic, Captain Carrot," said Waleed. "However, this meeting is, until I can get some guild representatives in here, over."

"Not yet it isn't," said Professor Nizam. "We're not going to be meeting here next week. We're going to have an office."

"Really? You found us one on such short notice?"

"There's a vacant apartment in a building next to the Alchemists' Guild. Most people don't want to live near alchemists, but I think we'll be safe if we only work near them. We'll need furniture, of course."

"Furniture is no problem," said Waleed. "I'll just stop by my father's shop tomorrow. He imports wonderful Klatchian furniture, and rugs as well."

"I thought you said he was in Quirm?"

"He is, but someone's running the shop in his absence. I'll just have some things delivered to the vacant apartment, and next week we should have a working office. For now, you are all dismissed, except for Professor Nizam."

They all left. "Professor Nizam, are you so sure an office near the alchemists is a good idea?"

"It was the only vacant space I could find. Besides, my sister was an alchemist, so I know the guild. They'd never hurt us deliberately, and most of their precautions are good enough that only their own building takes damage. I looked at the building yesterday. It's perfectly fine."

"That's good to know. I think today went well."

"Very well. I'm truly sorry for questioning you for being an Assassin."

"And I am truly sorry for treating you like an evil vizier. You know, maybe we're not the worst people to be working for Klatchians after all. Maybe…we're the best."

"Explain, Mr. Sahaffy."

"Well, we're such extreme examples of types of Klatchians that you don't want to run into. If an Assassin and a Grand Vizier can be trustworthy, hard-working Ankh-Morpork success stories—and even get along with each other—what does that say about the rest of our people?"

"Ah yes, trustworthiness, the quality so few white human Morporkians have when they go about demanding it of foreigners and other species. But I rather like your hypothesis, and hope that we prove it right."

Professor Nizam shook Waleed's hand, put his coat back on, and left. Waleed made himself another cup of coffee and planned next week's agenda. He still had someone to assassinate, but he had figured out a way to get that done without doing it himself. After all, it would look awfully suspicious if Amir Sahaffy's son, who was also a consultant for city institutions now, and had _so_ recently made remarks about the Merchants' Guild's unfair treatment of Amir Sahaffy, were found killing the merchant largely responsible for that unfair treatment. Oh, the Watch wouldn't get involved, if he remembered the paperwork this time, but they weren't the only people whose suspicions mattered now. Now, _everyone's_ suspicions mattered, from Vimes and Vetinari right down to any bugger who could pick up a copy of the _Times_ and actually read it. Waleed could still be an Assassin. He would have to be; he enjoyed eating and having a roof over his head, after all. He would just have to be careful of who he accepted contracts for. The KMRC was going to make enemies, and if Waleed ever had to kill any of those enemies on anyone else's orders, it would not look coincidental.

He wondered if what he had told Nizam was right after all, but then thought _Well, I'm not going to be wrong in front of Nizam. We don't even have an office yet. Focus on that, Sahaffy._ He had to focus on the office; he would be going to his father's shop the very next morning.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

Waleed knocked on the visitors' entrance of Unseen University. A bledlow slid a wooden panel open and looked out at him.

"Friend or foe?" asked the bledlow. Clearly, he was new to the job; a foe wouldn't knock on the door, and even if he did, a foe certainly wouldn't have _said_ Foe.

"Cut that out, Wilfred," said Waleed. "You know who I am. Waleed Sahaffy, here to see Professor Nizam. Tell him it's urgent."

"Love to, mate, but you see, he isn't in. Went down to a Klatchian coffeeshop to buy some Desert Orakh for the next University banquet. Shop's right up the street, though."

Waleed went up the street. Sure enough, there was a tiny coffeeshop. When he went in, he saw Professor Nizam, sitting at a table, a case of bottles of Desert Orakh at his feet and a plump, dark-skinned woman with her hair in a loose bun across the table from him.

"Professor Nizam! I'm terribly sorry to bother you but there's KMRC business! And who's she?"

"Waleed, this is Mona, a woman from my village who also happens to be the only Desert Orakh importer in all of Ankh-Morpork. Mona, this is Waleed, an Assassin who helped me establish the KMRC. What is the business, Waleed?"

"A Klatchian boy joined the Watch!"

"And? That's hardly news, Waleed, people join the Watch every day. Invite him to the next meeting."

"But Professor Nizam, what if Vimes starts thinking he doesn't need us as consultants anymore?"

"There are plenty of other agencies in the city that do. Waleed, you need to stop acting as if everything is the end of the world. Trust me, if it was the end of the world, it would involve more locusts."

Waleed shuddered. He hated bugs.

"By the way, did you ever manage to get that merchant inhumed?"

"I sort of can't. You know that my father has been consistently denied entry to the Merchants' Guild?"

"Yes."

"Well, by a bizarre coincidence, the merchant who denies his applications is the one I was asked to kill. True, the Watch would find the Guild paperwork, but the entire city isn't the Watch and they'd only hear 'Waleed Sahaffy done it!' and they'd think that the KMRC had turned violent."

"Ah. I see. And you think that they'll believe that a man who is known to be an assassin went against everything his school taught him and did, in fact, _mortifi sine lucre_?"

"A Klatchian one? Quite possibly. And nobody really likes Assassins anyway, apart from a certain type of young lady. And nobody likes _us_, Professor Nizam, the KMRC I mean, not Klatchians in general. They'll just think you hired me and we'd be back at square one."

"Can assassins hire other assassins?" asked Mona.

"Of course we can. I popped off a nobleman for my friend Tayeb Yehia once when he took ill…_of course_! Mona, you're brilliant! Yehia still owes me a favor! I'll just have _him_ inhume Morris! And he's not KMRC and he doesn't know my father, so it'll look like a normal assassination!"

"So it's settled then. The Klatchian watchman will be at our next meeting, your merchant will end up dead without reflecting badly on us, and I'll get the wizards so drunk on Desert Orakh that they'll _have_ to approve my idea for a study abroad program in Al-Khali."

"I want Mona at the next meeting too," said Waleed.

"Sadly, either you get Mona or you get Ponder Stibbons," said Nizam. "I don't want any of the wizards finding out."

"Finding out…oh. _Oh_. I see. I have to say, Nizam, out of all the wizards, you're probably the one I'd think least likely to be carrying on a relationship with a woman in defiance of all the laws of wizardry."

"Wizards, with the notable exception of Nizam, are daft creatures," announced Mona.

"So do you truly lose your powers or not?" asked Waleed.

"Any wizard who can't do magic after sex is in that state psychosomatically," said Nizam. "There is not a genuine physiological effect on occult ability. In layman's terms, Mr. Sahaffy, _no_."

"As for the other problem, breeding Sourcerers, I'm too old to have any children and even if I wasn't I could always buy a packet of Sonkies," said Mona.

"_Is_ Nizam the eighth son of an eighth son? I know not all wizards are eighth sons of eighth sons, but all eighth sons of eighth sons are wizards."

"I am, technically, the eighth son of an eighth son. Most of my brothers and some of my father's brothers did not survive. I wonder if you have to be the eighth _living_ son for it to qualify."

After he finished his coffee, Waleed decided to stop in at Pseudopolis Yard and see about this Klatchian boy who'd joined the Watch.

Corporal Nobbs was on duty.

Excellent, Waleed thought. Nobby would let you in to see Vimes himself if you could give him some money, food, or smokes. What _Vimes_ would say about it was "Damn Nobby!" but Nobby _would_ let you in.

"Good afternoon, Corporal Nobbs," said Waleed, making sure a packet of cigarettes was visible in his pocket and in a position where it could easily slide onto the desk in front of Nobbs. "I heard a young man of Klatchian descent has taken the King's Shilling, and I am making inquiries after his location."

What Waleed remembered about Nobbs was that he was easy to bribe. What Waleed _forgot_ about Nobbs was that he was as thick as a very thick thing. (Waleed liked metaphors, but he knew Vetinari occasionally amused himself by enforcing the laws against them, and it paid to be careful.)

"Wot?" the diminutive corporal asked.

"A wog's joined the Watch, where is he?" asked Waleed after turning down his brain function to come up with something Nobbs would be able to respond to.

"Dunno, but our consultant wouldn't like you saying that about Lance-Constable Diwani. He's an Assassin. The consultant, I mean, not Lance-Constable Diwani. Nothing against Klatchians, normal ones, but Assassins are shifty buggers."

Waleed contemplated saying "You'd fit right in, then," but he really wouldn't. The Assassins, after all, were shifty buggers _with style_.

"You must not have been here when I was appointed. I _am_ your consultant. Waleed Sahaffy." He almost added "at your service" before realizing Nobbs would take him literally and ask for a beer.

"Sorry for what I said, sir, but why'd you say what _you_ said?"

"I thought you wouldn't understand me otherwise. I think I went a bit too far in the other direction."

"Thinking I wouldn't know the right word is Klatchian, what would the Watch be coming to if we didn't know a simple thing like that. Anyway, Diwani is on patrol up by Scoone Avenue."

"Where nobs—er, not you, lower-case N and only one B—live? That Vimes's idea?" asked Waleed.

"I believe so. When Colon was working on the schedule, Vimes said, 'Colon, I don't like Klatchians any more than I like Morporkians, but I know I can't stand those rich buggers, so put Diwani up there and see what the smarmy assassin thinks of that.' I didn't know who the smarmy assassin was, so I asked and Vimes told me about you. Didn't expect to see you so soon, Diwani only joined yesterday."

"I'll go and see him," said Waleed. He found his way to Scoone Avenue easily. Some of his family's best customers—and one or two of his own—lived there.

Near the entrance to the avenue a man in Watch uniform was idly walking back and forth. Waleed called out, "Oi! You there!" The Watchman approached him.

"Are you Lance-Constable Diwani?" Waleed asked.

"Yes, sir. You're an Assassin. Bugger off."

Ah. Vimes—in spite of his own personal opinions—had made great strides in keeping ethnic and species prejudice out of the Watch, but clearly, certain professional antagonisms were still passed on. Oh well, Waleed thought. It wasn't as bad, it wasn't as if he'd been born an Assassin, but most were actually rather nice people when they weren't working, and Waleed thought Vimes just hadn't gotten to know them well enough.

"I'm Waleed Sahaffy of the Klatchian-Morporkian Relations Committee."

"Oh! What's going on? I've been interested in the committee but haven't had the chance to get to meetings."

"I'm negotiating a deal at the Museum of Antiquities to give some wrongfully acquired Klatchian artifacts back. Seems there's a professor in Al-Khali who's vehement about it."

"Hope you can get the artifacts home, sir. I love Ankh-Morpork but you can't deny it made a bit of an arse of itself abroad in the past."

"Anyway, I'm here to check in with you. Any trouble with other watchmen?"

"There've been some jokes, but Sergeant Angua says they find a way to tease all the new recruits, even the white ones, sir, so I'd look like a prat if I complained. But the people up here, they're a different story. Did you know, sir, one clacksed the Watch house to ask for a watchman? They got Angua, and actually told her to go arrest that Klatchian who's pretending to be a watchman. Only Angua told me afterwards they didn't exactly use the word 'Klatchian'. And they weren't so happy about Angua, either."

"Some people take the word 'watch_man_' a bit too literally," said Waleed. "They don't like trolls and dwarfs, either. Or that zombie. Or Angua, even though she's an ordinary and reasonably attractive woman from what I've seen. I'm surprised they don't comment on _Nobbs_, gods only know what he is."

"Vimes warned me about that."

"That's what gets me. It's always the rich digging their heels in. It's like they _know_ they didn't get where they are by talent and if someone _really_ leveled the playing field they could be at the bottom. That's what Nizam says, anyway. I've seen some people really down on their luck and sure, they've called me a raghead or whatever, but they don't have the sort of sustained, thinking, _plotting_ disdain the people up here have. They just have anger. I'd take a flash of anger from a drunk in Dolly Sisters a thousand times over before I'd take the oily, polite contempt of Lord Rust and his ilk."

"I've read about some of the things Nizam says in the _Times_. Is he a good leader?"

"He likes to think of himself as our philosophical leader, not our political one."

"Well, he seems like a good one," said Diwani. "I'll have to stop in. I take it _you're_ the political leader?"

"I'm the one that has to talk to people like Vimes and de Worde and those daft buggers at the Museum of Antiquities, so I suppose I am."

"I can see you were thrust into this position. Anyway, I've got a tip for you if you've got something for me."

Waleed sighed and pulled a bottle of Winkle's Old Peculiar out of his satchel. Trying to bribe watchmen with _money_ was a very bad idea, but some of them still accepted food and drink.

"For the record, don't drink it on duty and don't tell anyone you told me something for it," he said. "Might be bad for your prospects. Might be considered taking bribes."

"Why did you _bring_ a bribe with you?"

"Because of Nobby. Luckily I was able to get away with him only taking some cigarettes off me."

"I see, sir. Anyway, the word on the street is that some people aren't happy about me joining the Watch. They aren't happy about the whole Klatch thing in general really. They're livid that Lord Vetinari stopped the war."

"That is what I will never understand. The man walks into an encampment of armed men by himself, unarmed, knowing both sides won't be happy to see him, and comes out not only alive but ahead. I'm sure if he'd _killed_ someone he'd be a hero, but instead he stops the whole bloody war before it starts and people complain about it. More _heroism_ happened that day than in Lord Rust's whole damn pedigree, Diwani!"

"Well, it's sort of small-minded people," said Diwani. "They wanted an excuse to attack Klatchians. A war would've done that. Good old Lord V getting one over on the dastardly foeman is, while all very well and good for political people, not a reason they can hurt anyone for, because the dastardly foeman is now a very long way away."

"But surely it proves Ankh-Morpork's superiority of thinking?"

"No, it proves Lord Vetinari's a devious bastard. Morporkians knew that already."

Waleed pinched his nose. This was an unpleasant development. Oh, he knew the war hadn't been a boon to the Klatchians living in Ankh-Morpork, but this sounded worse. Sounded like the Morporkians were against the Klatchians because you _couldn't_ be against Lord Vetinari and expect to get very far. Projection. Gods _damn_ psychology, he thought (he'd studied it at the Guild school). Gave you enough knowledge to know what was going on in people's heads, didn't give you enough to do anything about it. And he, by definition, _had_ to do something about it.

Sometimes he really wished he could assassinate people for free, despite the obvious contradiction in terms. But he knew he never would. It wasn't simply a matter of being punished by the Guild (and when they said they were terminating your membership, they _meant_ it.) It was a matter of, well, not deep-seated goodness, because deep-seated goodness would stop him wanting to kill people at all—but deep-seated _Assassinship_. Even in his new position, Waleed thought like an Assassin. And while even an Assassin might have fleeting thoughts of killing some personal enemy, he would be able to stop himself from doing it.

It was rather like wizards and magic. The wizards' main role was to, knowing they _could_ do magic, refrain from doing so. An Assassin knew he _could_ kill anyone—except trolls—very easily, and could probably even kill trolls if given enough notice and the right equipment (like a bomb, or a really good dwarven mining axe). So he didn't.

"Does the Watch have any evidence there's stronger than usual anti-Klatchian sentiment in the city?"

"_I_ do! Someone threw an egg at me! And not some riffraff who just wanted to hit any copper, either, because they shouted words of opprobrium as well!"

Diwani was well-educated for a watchman, Waleed thought. Words of opprobrium? What copper talked like _that_?

"Troubling, but I was thinking of something more serious."

"You'll want the man who ended up in the Watch House with his arm in a sling after getting in a fight with a Klatchian. The Klatchian hasn't turned up, but we have reason to believe she's staying at Miss Slump's Boardinghouse for Young Ladies. Visiting from Al-Khali, sir."

"A Klatchian _woman_ beat someone up?" asked Waleed. He knew that the desert tribes raised everyone to be fighters, and that some of Klatch's most famous warlords had been, in fact, warladies, but he thought regular women from Al-Khali wouldn't fight.

"Yes. We think she's an Assassin, Mr. Sahaffy. The man said she was tall and wearing all black and had a funny looking crest on her dress. Could you go talk to her?"

"Certainly," said Waleed. If only to put the incident in his in-progress report of mistreatment of Klatchian-Morporkians. He was going to finish the report and make sure Commander Vimes and Lord Vetinari saw it at the end of the year.

"Maybe you could tell her it gives people the wrong impression if we beat up Morporkians?"

"I'm not going to tell someone not to defend herself, Diwani. And if she's an Assassin, she could have done much worse. Oh, she wouldn't _kill_ him, in self-defense we stop just short of killing because nobody's paid us, but it looks like she stopped quite a bit short of killing." Technically, Assassins were _allowed_ to kill in self-defense, but Waleed was right in saying that most _did_ stop short of it. It was considered wasted effort to kill someone for free if you could just knock them down and flee the area.

"Well, I'm not going to say someone is _certainly_ an Assassin based on someone's description, but it is a possibility."

"The thing is, I don't remember any female Klatchian Assassins from school."

"Would you?"

"Oh, yes. Our dormitories are separated, but our classes aren't, and I always liked to spend time with Assassin girls. They were much more level-headed. Didn't fall all over themselves for an Assassin, because they saw them every damn day."

"I see. Well, I'm sure you can find out who she is. We think she's at Mrs. Slump's because the fight was in the vicinity."

"Thank you, Diwani, for the lead. I have to be going now. Do try to come to the next meeting and keep me informed."

"I will, sir. Goodbye."

Diwani went back to patrolling Scoone Avenue, and before turning away Waleed thought he could see the young watchman roll his eyes at a woman who was eying him suspiciously through her curtains.

When he got to Mrs. Slump's, the eponymous landlady opened the door.

"I don't rent to blokes. Go away."

"I'm not looking to rent, ma'am. I'm looking for a young lady that I think is staying here."

"Oh. Come in, then. Who is it you're looking for? Care for a cup of tea?"

"Oh, yes, please," said Waleed, sinking into one of the pink armchairs. In fact, pink was one of the predominant colors of the room, white being the other. Mrs. Slump, or whoever she'd hired to decorate, had had an editing eye, however; the room wasn't tacky in the least. It didn't look like a little girl's room. It looked like a parlor for grown women who just happened to like the color pink.

When Mrs. Slump handed him the tea—in a white teacup with a border of pink roses—she asked, "Who was the girl you're here to see? I don't believe you've told me yet."

"I'm not _positive_ she's here, but I'm looking for a recently-arrived Klatchian woman, who's tall and dressed in black. We think she might be an Assassin, and she got in a fight and the other fellow came off worse."

"We have Shiara Sahaffy staying here, sir, but she's not an Assassin. She's a clerk of the Genuan Prime Minister in Ankh-Morpork on government business."

"A clerk," said Waleed blankly.

"Yes, sir."

"Fetch her anyway."

Shiara was ushered in, and much to Waleed's surprise, he recognized her. Waleed had quite a large family, full of more cousins, nephews and nieces than he could keep track of. Shiara was from the Al-Khali branch of the family, and he'd rarely seen her, but he still knew who she was. This time, she was taller than him, had her brown hair cropped to chin-length, and wore diamond-shaped spectacles.

"Shiara? The last time I saw you was before I went to the Assassins' school!"

"You went to the Assassins' school? Congratulations. I myself went to Vizier Academy." Shiara had a deep oily voice with a questionable accent. Of course, she'd learned Morporkian at school, Waleed thought, and a fine upstanding place like—_what in the world did she say_?

"A school for evil viziers? Why would anyone _make_ that? Why would anyone _hire_ you?"

"It isn't the Evil Vizier Academy, Waleed."

"But all viziers _are_ evil."

"Not Academy ones. The Academy was founded after that unpleasantness in Al-Khali with the sourcerer. We are duty-bound to only overthrow rulers who are acknowledged by the international community as deserving it. Mostly, it's about being just the right amount of evil. We're like Assassins, really."

"I can see that, you've ripped off our crest." The Academy crest on Shiara's lapel carried a similar double-cross to the Assassin crest, on a gold field. There was a ribbon above the crest bearing the words _Lingua Vermicula_.

"Anyway, what is it you wanted to see me about?" Shiara asked. She hadn't sat down, though she had taken a cup of tea.

"I heard you got into a fight and sent a man to the Watch House with his arm in a sling."

"You taken up with the Watch or something? Betraying noble Assassin principles already? Why d'you want to know?"

"I run an organization that represents the concerns of the Klatchian community in Ankh-Morpork. If someone attacked you, I want to know. I won't go to the Watch, but I want the details for a report."

"I'm going to the Watch myself later today, but here's what you need to know. This fellow came up to me and started rambling about wogs taking jobs from honest Morporkians. I told him I was not only employed in Genua but was extremely _dis_honest, but he was not assuaged and took a swing. I believe he was inebriated. Regardless, I showed no mercy and, after kicking his leg out from under him, gave him a little something to remember me by."

"If you kicked his leg, why was his arm in a sling?"

"He must have injured it when he hit the ground. Did the Watch tell you about the cut on his cheek?"

"No. They must not have seen it as pertinent."

"Pity." She flipped her hand in what looked like an idle motion, and revealed a knife hidden between her sleeve and her arm. "What, what are you looking so shocked for? You haven't got one of these?"

"I'm not that kind of Assassin."

"Whatever. You ought to put in your report that some of us Klatchian women are armed, might make the thugs think twice."

"Er, possibly," said Waleed. "Look, would you be interested in coming to the next meeting?"

"No, thank you. I'm only here briefly and I have plenty of work to do. I'm seeing one of the dark clerks for dinner and an exchange of information. I do hope I don't inadvertently receive _true_ information, all of mine is faulty."

"Lord Vetinari is involved. You will receive only the finest of faulty information."

"Oh, _good_," said Shiara. "Is there anything else you need to know?"

"No. I think I'll be going. Please write to me from Genua when you get back. I've always wanted to know more about the city."

"Their Assassins' Guild is back in operation. Has been for some time, even though they all left when that witch came around. You ought to ask about their exchange program. You could learn about Genua first-hand."

"I would love to. Maybe once my organization is better equipped, I'll be able to take a vacation. Until then, I'll have to settle for hearing from you."

"I'll make an effort to write to you, then."

"Goodbye, Shiara."

"Goodbye, Waleed. I hope we'll meet again."

Waleed left the boardinghouse and went on home, stopping by the Guild to explain the situation the merchant's contract had left him in and get it reassigned, preferably to Yehia, who by a marvelous coincidence was at the Guild at the moment. He also invited Yehia to the KMRC—though advised him it would be better all round if he arrived _after_ inhuming the problematic merchant—and then went home to plan out the next meeting.


End file.
